We were in Gjovik, Norway, not far from the home of the previous Olympics in Lillehammer. The Short Track Speedskating World Championships were being held in the venue where the Olympic Ice hockey finals were held a year prior. The venue is striking - a giant cavern carved out of the inside of a mountain. Incidentally, the granite from the mountain was used to fill the center of the Olympic medals issued for the Lillehammer Winter Olympics - including my own.

The World Championships were complete and I had finished a disappointing 5th place due to a fall in the semi-finals. I did, however, set the fastest time in the world in my 500m quarter final by a fairly large margin so that felt good. But it was now time for the requisite post-race banquet. In this case it was held within the arena just off-ice after the final day of racing - as always a Sunday. The room was decorated with ice-age artifacts and featured, in the corner opposite the speaking stage, a life-sized replica of a mastodon standing 10 feet tall.

As per usual, the teams of USA and Australia were sitting together, Britain and Korea and Italy and Japan flanking us with the English speakers dominating the center of the table. The level of camaraderie in our sport is a bit hard to describe but extraordinarily strong. On the ice, we were willing to pull death-defying stunts to make a pass and risk life and limb for ourselves to overcome our competitors, but off-ice, we were best of friends - or at least as close as we could be given language barriers.

We were drinking beer, lots of it, and the Norwegian speedskating aristocracy was droning on per usual on the stage with the occasional translation to English and French. We were paying no attention. My best friends were around me - Aussies Kieran Hansen to the left, my best friend Richard Nizielski to to the right, and across from me were Randy Bartz, Andy Gable, Eric Flaim, Wilf O’Reilly, and Steven Bradbury. At one point Kieran said, “I bet I could climb that!” and motioned to the mastodon. We all laughed and continued our conversation.

Moments later, I noticed that Kieran’s seat was empty and that the speaker on stage had stumbled and stopped. We all looked around and then saw it - Kieran was climbing the mastodon, using its long hair for a grip, and had almost succeeded in mounting it. Sure enough moments later there he was, sitting astride the 10-foot wooly mammoth and screaming “yeahhhh haaaahhh” never mind the ceremonies going on. We were crying laughing and security appeared out of nowhere motioning for him to get down. After a few tense moments of negotiation, Kieran swung his legs over the side and a bit unceremoniously dropped back to the ground. After a brief interview, he was set free and sat back down next to me.

Kieran and I sometime during that meet - possibly during the dinner - as I recall it was quite cold in there…

In whispers as the speaker resumed we were asking him, “dude - what the hell was that?” He just smiled and said, “she needed to be ridden!” We laughed and laughed and resumed our conversations. The ceremonies continued front-of-room but again we ignored them.

The Ice Hall - sans chairs, tables, and Mastodon…

Things seemed to be finally nearing the end and the master of ceremonies was concluding the event and then, he too stuttered and stopped mid-stream, looking beyond our table. I looked to my left. Kieran was missing - AGAIN! And as all heads swiveled we saw him AGAIN perched on top of the mastodon, “Yeaaaahhh Haawwww!” swinging an imaginary lasso.

Security was faster this time and started pulling at his legs, which caused him to fall sideways off the 10 foot perch. Fortunately they caught him and brought him back to ground safely. I’m not sure I have ever laughed that hard before or since.

Once? Hilarious. Twice? Legendary.

The night of the mastodon will live on forever in all our minds.

Why Am I Still Alive Pt. 27: The Night of the Mastodon